“Holy shit, Hells!” is all Aimes says from the force of my actions. Her face is one of pride though, not shock.
“Hey y’all, come watch this.” Simon mutters, still bracing against the dash. Ross says nothing but just stares at me. If slinging the truck around will remove his smile, I may learn a new way to drive.
“This turn here?” I ask, ignoring them with my eyes still staring at the man behind my truck in the mirror. His eyes are safe from me behind the tinted lenses he wears. His face is blank even with Leslie animatedly talking in his ear like a devil on his shoulder. Rhett and Marxx both start clapping from the show.
“Yeah, this turn here.” Simon answers and I can feel his eyes on me. Men are so afraid of our feminine mood swings.
My warhorse navigates the turn with ease, even with her long frame, following into the sharp curve. We turn onto a narrow paved access road leading us through a tall, unkempt grass field. Deep ruts are visible from the many attempts to keep large service vehicles on such a narrow strip of asphalt. Even with their large size, the ties jar riding over so many deep potholes that I am forced to keep my attention to my driving. I no longer feel the need to watch what is going on behind me. I think I have made my opinion of his actions very clear. I do hit the brakes a little too hard here and there just to watch them brace behind me. It’s the little things in life.
Simon reaches over and taps a pattern out on the horn. The smart asses behind us play a game of “Simon Says” with the same melody. I do not even need to glance to see which two it was. Aimes and I exchange questioning glances at his sudden need for musical skills.
“Slow down or you’ll be running over my crew this time.” Simon tells me as a giant barbed wire fence comes into view.
“What the hell is this?” Aimes asks, taken aback by the first sight of our new home. “Are we at a prison?”
“Close.” Simon answers her wearing a mischievous smirk upon his face, and Ross just smiles. Surprise.
The gate does not swing open to allow us through but slides to the side. A man stands at the entrance with a high-power rifle slung across his back. His green eyes, so close to my own shade, are watching us drive to him. His clothes give hints at the well-toned shape of his body even from this distance. He waits with a shy stare as I roll my window down for him to talk with us. For a moment, I forget how to speak.
“Dolph, did Ramero make it back?” Simon asks of the man.
“Yeah, few hours ago. Was wondering when you’d show up.” He answers in a soft-spoken southern drawl. He never turns his body fully to us. I do not mind. The view of his well-toned arm keeps me entertained more than their conversation anyway. He leans sideways into the conversation, keeping those behind us in his sight. “What’s all this?”
“We made some new friends.” Ross answers with his smile.
Dolph leans in closer, resting that same arm that I have been memorizing the shape of on the truck’s door to see the man. His face is showing his disappointment with the answer. Or, perhaps just with Ross all together. Ross doesn’t seem to have a very big fan club. “They should have left you with your new friends.”
“Family reunions, so much fun.” Aimes says to me, hinting at an acknowledgment of our being ignored with their conversation.
Dolph holds her in his sight, trying to figure out if she is serious or toying with him. The emotions flash across his face before releasing her without any comment as he pulls back from the window. Aimes is making no new fan club members today either.
“Lock the gate up and meet us up at the school. I will fill you in.” Simon tells him.
He answers with a short head nod and a step back, allowing us to pass. Leslie and he exchange greetings as Lawless drives by him. If a greeting is a glare and the turning of his back to her hello. He does not seem too thrilled with discovering her either. Maybe he is just not the cheerful type. Chapel is the last one through when Dolph slides the gate shut behind him. There is a finalization with watching the gate shut behind us. For better or worse, we are now a part of their world and they, a part of ours.
“Should we wait for him?” I am still watching Dolph, and Simon does not try to hide his amusement. “It just seems rude to leave him like this.” I am trying to hide my discomfort of being so transparent with my thoughts under the guise of kindness. Sometimes it works. I see with Simon’s grin that this is not one of those times.
“No, it is best to let him walk back to the school. He needs some time to adjust. I can only imagine how your crew and Dolph are going to get along.” That same amusement is still upon his face.
“He seems pretty harmless.” Aimes lets the statement hang, forming more of a question.
“Yeah, you silent ones always do.” He catches my eyes in the rear view mirror with sincere honestly.
I can’t help it. I look to Ross with obvious disbelief at that assumption. Feeling my eyes upon him, he does not smile at me, but Aimes does. She is having the same thoughts as I about the “silent ones” being dangerous. We are used to our blusterous crew with their foul language, short tempers, and male jokes. That to us is dangerous. Not the quite man at the gate with his shy stares and short framed sentences or Ross with his instant smile and crowd pleasing needs. Nor me, for that matter, with all of my baggage stacking up around me. At this rate, I can go on a world tour and still have plenty of clothes packed for the return trip.
“Wait, did you say school?” I was wondering how long until Aimes picked up that clue.
“Yup” Ross’s smile has rejoined us. “A high school.”
“We really are in a prison!” She melts down onto the seat as a sigh escapes with the realization of where we are finally settles over her. I love my Aimes.
The perimeter of the school is surrounded by high wire fencing. I hope the barbed wire wrapped around the top is an afterthought of our new world and not part of what they once considered necessary for a school day. The school itself is a giant brick building of gothic intent. The slate coloring is a depressing grey against a darker roof matching the asphalt drive. Rows of narrow windows etched in the same dark coloring prove what a monster this place once was with its looming three stories. From our entrance, the building appears to be a giant rectangle of connecting halls wrapping around itself. Standing against an overcast sky, there are no welcoming feelings expressed from what I am seeing.
Simon instructs us to pull through an exaggerated archway that has been opened for us with our approach. The inner courtyard is completely protected by the high thick walls of the building, keeping the heart of the building secure. Many archways provide entrances to each internal section with various heights of steps to each. It casts an illusion of different depths to contrast against the dreary grey coloring. People are scattered about with their silent stares watching our approach. Their distrust mounting as each loud engine pulls in behind me. Their cold demeanor matching that of the building they call home.
“Cheerful. Think they know any campfire songs?” Aimes begins to sink down on the bench with the weight of the stares.
The courtyard itself is a main slab of dark concrete attached to the building with just as darkly colored paths leading to the many stairways. A dry brown lawn circles the concrete in an attempt, in the warmer months, to provide scenery with its many benches. Aimes is right. This is not like any high school I have ever seen. These kids were truly in a prison. The ones that live here now seem no friendlier than prisoners themselves.
Simon instructs me to park over to the side of the concrete that has been designated for such a purpose. Many cars, in many sizes, are parked in rows along the one wall. Also among them is the blue minivan from the Welcome Center. It still wears the markings of its encounter as either proof of its survival, or its shame, depending on which side of the event you sat.
Aimes and I exit from our respective sides, allowing our passengers to slide out after us. A woman is running towards us with shed tears upon her face, and for a moment, I pause in uncertainty ov
er what to do until Simon steps from behind me to catch her as she falls into his arms. She clings to him with a desperate strength that comes from a deep relief of finding him and the fear of never seeing him again. They speak in soft tones to one another, ignoring the world around them, becoming a world of their own.
“When he came back without you…” Her voice cracks under the strain of having to finish the thought with words.
“I will always come back. Always.” Simon tells her, holding her head between his hands so she is forced to see into his eyes. He needs her to see the depth of sincerity the words hold. His thumbs glide in a comforting pattern along her face to help ease her fears. “No matter what, I will always come back.”
He holds her to his body as they both still seek the reassurance of one other. I am watching them reacquaint their senses, providing the proof to their hearts that they still live on. That they are both still safe. That today did not take the one possession they would not survive to lose. I can’t help but to wonder how much of his dedication to this woman is the reason for him siding with J.D. Here J.D. has been thinking his mind game allowed us passage but it very well may be that Simon has used us.
“Where is Kira?” He finally finds his voice, regaining his composure.
“She is resting. When you didn’t come back with Ramero, she didn’t take it well.” I listen to the bits and clues of their conversation that she gives me.
“I’m sorry.” Simon closes his eyes as pain streaks across his face with the thoughts her words conjure for him and I wonder who Kira could be to cause such emotions. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re here now. That is all that matters.” She answers softly, trying to ease his pain. She seals the words with a soft kiss upon his lips that he returns with his own tenderness.
“I guess we have you to thank for that?” She turns to me with her face still damp from their emotions. “Shelia.” She extends her hand to me.
Shelia’s skin is richer in color than Simon’s. Her eyes hold the beautiful depths of color that only their race can obtain. Those eyes are red-rimmed from expressing the sorrows she thought had come to call her heart home. Her hand trembles slightly from her frayed nerves with the morning’s events. I can only image what the fear must feel like to watch the one you love leave you knowing he may not come back and then to watch those fears come to life. I hope I never have to.
“Helena.” I answer, taking her hand. I grasp it firmly, letting her know the sorrow I feel for her. “Not so much my doing.”
“Yeah, she only chopped her way through a whole caboodle of dead peeps to reach your man here when he got left behind by his own. No big deal.” Aimes adds an ended point to her words with a sharp pop of her very pink gum. She has perched herself on the edge of my warhorse’s bed, swinging her legs, adding to her abundance of charm. “How is Romeo anyway?”
“Ramero.” Shelia corrects her. “He isn’t doing well either.”
“Yeah, guilt is a bitch like that.” Aimes smiles her “look how cute I am” smile, popping another pink bubble.
Shelia has no answer to another award winning observation of Aimes, so she does not offer one. Instead, she eyes the men behind us with curiosity and caution. Unconsciously, she steps back into the safety of Simon, watching those behind us. “Are they with you, too?”
Aimes pivots her upper body to glace at the group of men huddling together over the black frames of the motorcycles. Leslie is still perched on the back of Lawless’ like a Queen holding court. Her comments make the men laugh and they return her flirting with smiles of their own. J.D. has been watching us with Simon. His smile is forced and not amused by what he is seeing around him. I guess red-heads are not his style?
Now as we look in their direction, he runs his fingers down Leslie’s arm, proving to us how easily we can be replaced. Aimes calls his bluff by blowing a kiss to him and it lands its mark better than Cupid could with his sense of irony. J.D. frowns with a moment of regret upon his face, his fingers pausing on her arm as if they are touching something offensive before returning to rest at his side. The men around him, with their silent attunement to him, notice the shift in his mood. Their eyes all at once come to rest on us watching them. Rhett waves an exaggerated wave, with just as comical a smile, in our direction. Aimes returns it with a wave that would make parade queens proud. The kisses she sends him would make one swoon. Even Shelia laughs at the sight of such a larger than life man fooling around with our pixie.
I watch Dolph as he enters the courtyard entrance behind the gathered group. Adjusting the rifle onto his back now that he is in the protection of the high school’s high walls, he squints against the afternoon sun that is flirting in and out of the clouds, teasing us with its warmth. The sun’s rays catch the many tints of his hair from a dark red-brown to its hidden golden hues. His long stride tells of his ease in any situation, even as his eyes continue to glace down, before coming back to rest on our new groups.
His short head nods are becoming his trademark, signaling Simon with one when their eyes meet. Dolph pauses half way to us, making Simon step away and cover the gap left to speak with him. His face does not hide his suspicion of us and J.D.’s group does not help his assumptions. They are starting their own stare off with him as they grow silent the way predators do. Simon had hinted at this on the way here. Now the tension is simmering like summer’s heat in the space between our groups.
“Boys…” Aimes begins, before I can clear my throat to stop her from speaking whatever her little fun sized mind is going to spill forth next.
“Shelia, why don’t you take them and get them set up?” Simon asks of her, eyeing the tension brewing. To us he says, “Make sure your boys follow you out, OK?”
He does not need to place any more meaning into his words. He knows he cannot control both sides should egos erupt. He is counting on us to help him diffuse what could be a volatile situation with so much male pride on the line. As far as first impressions go, the men are blowing it. The other residents are now clustered into small fragments of groups watching it all. If social media was still available, I can only imagine the many updates this group’s would hold from their many highs and lows of this morning.
“Aye aye, Capt’n.” Aimes whistles for the rest of our once happy family. “Heerrree Attack Monkeys. Come on, Attack Monkeys.” She yells across the divide, using the term of endearment from earlier, successfully breaking the male angst with her antics. Dolph even has to cock one eyebrow in her direction with her title for the men. His body relaxes some with the humor.
Chapel breaks rank first and makes his way to us. He is as tired as I am of the constant posturing but unable to escape it as easily as I can. Yay for being a girl. Rhett and Lawless begin imitating the animal call of their new nicknames, jumping over the Harleys in their path to follow Chapel over. J.D. and Marxx stare at Dolph, sending a private male message to the other man, before following themselves. Leslie sits alone, and stranded, on the back of the bike without her court around her. They leave her without a second thought to make her own way to whichever side she chooses. It also sends a very male private message.
“Oooo, shanked” Aimes whispers to me as she jumps down from the edge of the tall truck. I smile, watching Lawless return to me, even as I know, he is not returning at all.
CHAPTER 25
We follow Shelia into one of the many tall arches from the courtyard. Lawless and Rhett are still enjoying their calls to each other until a firm look from J.D. reduces them to silence. Like naughty boys, they still under his gaze. I find that more humorous than their zoo rendition and I let my smile tell J.D. so. He smirks at me, forgetting our earlier conversations, for the moment. It eases the fluttering in my stomach that is threatening to grow into so much more with the knowledge that I am about to enter another school. Last time it didn’t go so well. Not for me and not for those in my care for.
The interior of the high school is much the same color scheme as the outside. It is grey, da
rk and wonderfully depressing. No happy mascots of false cheer here to stare down at me with the secret knowledge of my sins. Shades fade from white to a silver-grey with a strategic process that refuses to form any real patterns but simple shading along the walls and tile floors. The tall windows are embedded with a crisscross-wiring of security, but the sun peers through allowing enough light to fill the hallways around the school. It is the only source of light illuminating these halls.
“Depressing.” Aimes whispers in my ear, not wanting to upset Shelia with her opinion of what may become our new home.
“Fitting.” Is my answer to her, unwilling to admit how happy I am for the lack of pastels.
The stairwell is behind heavy steel doors that require Shelia to lean into them with the full weight of her small body to have them open for her. She smiles at us with a shy touch of embarrassment at that fact. Chapel reaches over her, holding them open for us with a simple return of her smile. His six foot frame easily supports the weight of them and allows her to slip under his arms. I bet he was always picked first to play London Bridge in school.
“Thank you. Simon says I will be happy they are so weighted should we need the safety of them, but I can’t help but wonder about that every time I have to come up and down these steps.” Shelia’s dark natural skin tone hints at a shade of pink standing so close to Chapel.
Each one of the men bounces the weight off their palms as they follow us through, judging the logic of her words themselves. Rhett chooses a different test and swings the door back onto Marxx with the full strength of his arms. He and Lawless skip ahead a few steps to distance themselves from the man who caught the weight of the steel door mostly with his face. Their laughter taunts Marxx as he does his own half run to catch up to them, intending to repay them for their humor. J.D.’s simple slide of his shoe with his turn to look at them is enough to stall all three of them in their actions. Their laughter dies, leaving only Marxx’ glare to mark the event. What naughty boys we have.
The Risen (Book 1): Dawning Page 15